To verify whether Bao Zhu’s scheme could proceed smoothly, the group continued staying at Chanming Temple for several days.

Tan Lin’s corpse had been dehydrated by lime absorption, then slowly baked by the fire’s residual heat, transforming into a shaped mummified body.

Chanming Temple’s monks were already quite skilled at preserving corpses. Following Wei Xun’s hints, they quietly removed Tan Lin’s internal organs, filled his abdominal cavity with lime and spices, brushed his entire body with preservative tung oil, and would later gild him. This fragrant flesh Buddha could last two to three hundred years without decay.

As for Guan Chuan’s disappearance, everyone believed that since he had previously been an elusive martial world hero, with Master Tan Lin’s nirvana and Buddhahood, his guardian duty had ended—disappearing was only natural.

Of the five monks with “Guan” in their names—Shan, Chuan, Yun, Chao, and Cheng—only three remained. Since Tan Lin’s will clearly designated Guan Chao to inherit his mantle, no one dared raise objections. They immediately installed this young, handsome monk on the abbot’s throne to fulfill the important duty of providing relief to refugees.

Guan Chao had previously managed the kitchen, responsible for the dining hall, kitchen, and granary storage, providing meals for Chanming Temple’s thousand-plus monks and visiting patrons. He knew these complex daily affairs like the back of his hand and possessed particular compassion. He quickly adapted, methodically accepting donations from believers and redistributing them for disaster relief.

The four gathered secretly in Yang Xingjian’s room to discuss recent observations, all approving of Guan Chao’s administrative abilities.

Yang Xingjian sincerely praised: “The Princess has keen judgment and skillful management. There’s a Buddhist saying: ‘Since ancient times, kitchen masters become patriarchs.’ Only monks who’ve done the most basic work can better understand Buddhist dharma—otherwise, armchair philosophy is just castles in the air.”

Bao Zhu felt puzzled: “I don’t even know him. How would I know his capabilities?”

Shisan Lang was confused: “Having Monk Guan Chao serve as abbot was Jiu Niang’s personal instruction, wasn’t it?”

Bao Zhu raised an eyebrow and smiled smugly: “Because he’s handsome! I believe physiognomy reflects the heart—beautiful people have kind hearts too.”

The other three didn’t know how to respond and fell silent.

Bao Zhu continued righteously: “Being a monk, the most important thing is having a pleasing appearance. We meet countless monks and Taoists daily, all coming to seek donations. We don’t have time or energy to examine their Buddhist knowledge and character—we just give to whoever looks agreeable and speaks pleasantly.”

Since Wei Xun was injured, Shisan Lang had been accompanying her back and forth as a laborer these past days—both clever and obedient. Bao Zhu smiled at the young novice and praised: “You’re quite good-looking and very perceptive. When you grow up, you’ll surely be a qualified handsome monk. I’ll arrange a famous temple like Chanming Temple for you to manage as abbot. How about it?”

Shisan Lang’s small face immediately lit up, knowing he now had the Princess’s lifelong support. He jumped up excitedly, shouting: “You must keep your word!”

Overwhelmed by this tremendous joy, he couldn’t sit still and bounded over to Wei Xun, excitedly sharing his happiness: “Big Brother, did you hear? I don’t need to practice martial arts anymore! I’m going to be the Princess’s monk!”

Wei Xun stared thoughtfully at his junior brother, then said seriously after a moment: “Then you should practice kung fu even harder, from dawn to dusk.”

Shisan Lang was stunned: “Why?”

Wei Xun beckoned his little junior brother closer, put an arm around his shoulders, and whispered ominously: “Because being the Princess’s monk makes you especially likely to be cut in half! Without cultivating an indestructible diamond body, how can you withstand the executioner’s blade?”

Seeing his senior brother’s sinister smile mixed with cunning evil, Shisan Lang felt a chill down his spine without understanding the meaning. Having gained such a wonderful future, his usually closest big brother wouldn’t share his joy and even said frightening things. His nose felt sour as he muttered quietly: “Big Brother is so mean…”

Having planted this seed of doubt in his junior brother’s heart, Wei Xun thought: Shisan Lang was growing rapidly. If he started practicing the “Prajna Confession” earnestly from now, in a dozen years he’d probably develop Guan Chuan’s robust build rather than Guan Chao’s appearance…

Probably… right?

Bao Zhu remembered something strange and asked Shisan Lang: “That Ghost Festival night, you said you were going to do religious exercises and disappeared. What exercises were you actually doing?”

Shisan Lang said: “Before Master died, he left two final wishes. One you know about—that chaos and upheaval thing. The other was just for me: every month on the first or fifteenth, I should pick a day to chant and copy scriptures, praying for his friend’s blessing.”

Bao Zhu said in surprise: “Such a surly, stubborn fellow actually had friends? What kind of living Bodhisattva could tolerate him?”

Shisan Lang shook his head: “He didn’t say. Thinking that such an odd person wouldn’t have many friends, I figured just mentioning ‘Chen Shigu’s friend’ would deliver the message to the underworld.”

Wei Xun remained silent. After pondering awhile, Bao Zhu suddenly noticed an extremely strange detail and questioned: “Wait, chanting is fine, but copying scriptures requires literacy. Can you actually write?”

Shisan Lang nodded: “Before Master died, he taught me to write the 260 characters of the Heart Sutra and the 410 characters of the Great Compassion Mantra.”

Bao Zhu was shocked, never expecting the most cultured person in Remnant Sun Courtyard to be this youngest little novice. After long amazement, she said to Wei Xun: “Chen Shigu strictly forbade you all from literacy, even crippling Pang Liangji for it, yet showed favoritism by only teaching Shisan Lang this. Don’t you senior disciples have any objections?”

Wei Xun said helplessly: “Favoritism was already the most harmless of all his faults. What objections could we have?”

These past days he’d been pondering how much truth lay in Tan Lin’s account of Chen Shigu and Yuan Xu’s story. Master’s deathbed left two incomprehensible final wishes—now one seemed to have an answer.

Chen Shigu knew that Tan Lin had only pretended to pray for Yuan Xu’s blessing to save his own life, yet still spared him. A person who completely disbelieved in gods and Buddhas, forty years later, left this youngest closed-door disciple to continue this illusory, boring task.

Chen Shigu’s obsession wasn’t as coldly rational as he’d thought.

Having acquired a once-in-a-century flesh Buddha, Chanming Temple’s other tourist attractions became less important. With Tan Lin’s death, no one wanted to continue nine-aspects contemplation practice, nor did any painter want to learn the mad Guancheng’s corpse-dissecting art. All bodies stored in the temple were carried to suburban graveyards for burial.

Without corpses, there was no need to burn large quantities of incense to mask their stench. Abbot Guan Chao simply cut this expensive cost. The ancient temple’s air, previously wreathed in smoke all day, immediately became fresh and pleasant, sweeping away the old eerie, oppressive atmosphere.

To save grain and increase relief personnel, Guan Chao even eliminated the job of burying wine dregs under osmanthus trees, publicly stating that Chanming Temple was built on hot spring veins—the soil temperature was naturally higher than other regions, so fertilizer wouldn’t affect blooming time either way.

Before leaving Chanming Temple, Bao Zhu took one last look at Wu Guancheng’s work “Maudgalyayana Saves His Mother.” With the case solved and the true culprit punished, she wondered whether this genius painter who died from persecution could untie his mental knots, escape hell’s bitter sea, and reunite with Gui’er under the osmanthus tree. Unfortunately, his new painting techniques and Wu Daozi’s eye-dotting secrets were both lost forever.

Sighing with emotion, Bao Zhu looked back at the courtyard and caught sight of Wei Xun standing in corridor shadows, watching her.

Since the Ghost Festival night battle, he’d become somewhat strange. Previously they could walk side by side holding hands, but now he stubbornly refused to approach, using his injuries as excuse. He often hid in corners staring at her, making her feel unsettled.

Pitying his injuries and abnormal behavior these past days, she hadn’t minded. But today she finally couldn’t bear it. Bao Zhu beckoned him over.

Wei Xun slowly approached and asked: “What’s wrong?”

Bao Zhu questioned displeasedly: “You’ve been really strange these past days.”

Not nearly as strange as you were that night, Wei Xun thought silently.

He’d assumed that after proving his heart, he could cast those wild fantasies behind him. Who knew that while his mindset had calmed, his memories hadn’t disappeared. Fortunately, after several days’ practice, he could finally control his reactions, focusing his gaze on her entire person rather than staring at body parts like lips, earlobes, and collarbones.

Bao Zhu demanded: “What exactly are you looking at?”

“Your hair… you didn’t put in combs today.”

Bao Zhu knew her head was bare. Having been forced to cut off two inches after singeing her hair ends rushing into the fire that day, she said gloomily: “I’m tired of using that same one every day. When we reach Luoyang city and withdraw money from the money house, I must go shopping for new styles and select rouge and powder.”

Wei Xun nodded without further comment. Even in his hallucinations she’d been fretting about these things—clearly she really wanted them.

“Give me your hand,” Bao Zhu demanded straightforwardly.

Wei Xun knew he couldn’t avoid this time and slowly raised his right hand, extending it with righteous resolve.

Bao Zhu gently unwrapped the bandages bit by bit, cupping this scarred claw in both hands for careful examination. Being a qi cultivator, his wounds healed much faster than ordinary people—the torn flesh had already closed, and the bright red of the palm burns was starting to darken.

Though the culprit had been punished, seeing these injuries still made Bao Zhu furious: “When that old baldy mentioned ‘those who shouldn’t die’ that day, I vaguely felt something was wrong. Thinking seriously, the victim best fitting that description was you.”

Wei Xun thought that since entering Chanming Temple, he’d constantly worried about someone coveting Bao Zhu. Actually, they’d feared Yang Xingjian’s official status and never harbored evil intentions—the misunderstanding was rather amusing.

Bao Zhu instructed: “Next time you fight someone, remember to call me. Though my nickname isn’t great, I’m also a famous martial world figure.” After thinking, she added quietly: “Call my name, not the nickname.”

Wei Xun smiled and agreed: “Alright.”

Though he’d cultivated temperance these past days and appeared nonchalant on the surface, being held and gently caressed by her still made his heart race like a wild monkey. Estimating his willpower couldn’t withstand another round of injury inspection, when she finished rewrapping his right hand and requested his left, Wei Xun placed a lacquered box in her palm—the seven-treasure glass box obtained in Xiagui County.

Bao Zhu was startled, not understanding his meaning.

Wei Xun moved slightly closer and lowered his voice: “Open it after leaving Chanming Temple. What’s inside is something I stole.”

Bao Zhu was shocked—was this person giving stolen goods as a gift? As Wei Xun handed over the box and immediately withdrew, a group of monks carrying firewood happened to pass by. Fearing an argument would attract attention, she frantically stuffed the box into her robes.

When the group left great Chanming Temple and crossed the mountain gate, like other temples, a magnificent statue of Weituo stood at the entrance.

Wei Xun handed the reins to Shisan Lang, clasped his arms together, and bowed to Weituo with elegant bearing and full martial world flair.

Yang Xingjian was amazed that this arrogant person who disbelieved in gods and Buddhas would actually worship a Bodhisattva. Moreover, while others pressed palms together when worshipping gods, this person used such a martial world gesture, as if Weituo were also a hero—extremely puzzling.

Everyone took one last look at the couplet carved on both sides of the mountain gate: “All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows, like dew and lightning—thus should they be contemplated.”

The world outside the gate wasn’t pure. An endless line of refugees queued to receive rice porridge from Chanming Temple. Being Buddhist sacred ground blessed by Abbot Tan Lin’s compassionate flesh Buddha, though their expressions showed anxiety and hunger, they weren’t as desperate.

Riding her donkey, Bao Zhu noticed that because many wealthy people came to Chanming Temple for incense and worship, nearby food vendors had gathered, including someone carrying a box selling malt sugar.

She sent Shisan Lang to buy candy. He inquired but didn’t pay, returning to report: “Jiu Niang, he wants twenty wen per stick.”

Bao Zhu was furious: “What a profiteering seller! Is this candy inlaid with gold? Something worth one or two wen in Guanzhong—how dare he demand such outrageous prices!”

Hearing someone of her noble status actually complain about expensive prices, Wei Xun laughed: “Malt sugar is made from sprouted wheat. When grain prices are high, such things naturally double in price too.”

Learning the reason, Bao Zhu’s face reddened. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and told Shisan Lang to buy three sticks.

She never ate such roadside snacks covered in dust. When Shisan Lang excitedly bought them back and held them up to her, Bao Zhu solemnly refused: “I can’t eat while riding a donkey—too improper. You and your senior brother share them, and give the remaining one to that child.”

She pointed to a man carrying a pole in the porridge queue, with a dark, thin child sitting in his basket. Unlike previous days, the grass stalks marking him “for sale” in his hair had been removed.

Worried, she instructed: “Stand there and watch him finish eating before returning, so others don’t snatch it from him.”

Shisan Lang obeyed, candy in his mouth, stuffing another stick into Wei Xun’s hand before bouncing off cheerfully.

The child in the basket suddenly received this heaven-sent gift, wolfing down the malt candy, convinced it was the sweetest thing in the world.

Watching this familiar scene, momentarily uncertain what year it was, Wei Xun felt his soul immersed in hot springs, seemingly enveloped in gentle light, floating weightlessly upward—as if he, not she, had been excavated from a pitch-black, heavy grave.

Who had actually saved whom back then? It was truly unclear.

Well beyond Chanming Temple, when Luoyang city came into view, Bao Zhu could no longer contain her patience and took out the lacquered box.

Wei Xun watched her expectantly while Bao Zhu hesitated due to his previous misdeeds.

“You mischievous imp, you didn’t fill the box with caterpillars, did you? I warn you—if you dare frighten me like this again, I’ll definitely, definitely…” With his hands too injured to hit, Bao Zhu couldn’t think of punishment and threatened fiercely: “Hmph, I won’t let you off lightly!”

Wei Xun smiled: “It is something from a tree, but not frightening. Open and see.”

Bao Zhu remained skeptical, not daring to open immediately. She lifted the lid slightly to peek inside, seeing nothing but catching a wisp of fresh, sweet fragrance from within.

Understanding dawned. She opened the lid completely, immediately beaming with delight: “It’s this!”

Inside the lacquered box lay a newly opened osmanthus flower, more brilliant than golden hairpins, more fragrant than perfume.

Wei Xun said: “When leaving, I caught a whiff from the osmanthus tree. The bald monks were busy cooking and serving porridge—no one noticed this year’s first osmanthus had bloomed. I quietly climbed up and stole it back.”

Bao Zhu grinned from ear to ear, picking it up to sniff repeatedly. After admiring it thoroughly, she called: “Quick! Quick, pin it on me!”

She lowered her head, urging Wei Xun to insert the flower branch into her satin-like coiffed hair.

Seeing the beauty and osmanthus complement each other brilliantly, Yang Xingjian praised endlessly, adopting his attitude of flattering superiors and deliberately fawning: “The Son of Heaven hasn’t visited the Eastern Capital for years. Now the most noble woman in all Luoyang is none other than the Princess—naturally deserving the first osmanthus flower. This is perfectly natural—how could it be called stealing? ‘Osmanthus auspicious clouds’ refers precisely to the Princess’s phoenix carriage ascending to immortality!”

Hearing this, Bao Zhu became even more delighted, straightening proudly with head held high—as if riding one donkey with three odd followers gave her the grand retinue of hundreds of guards and palace attendants.

Seeing her so happy over a single flower, Wei Xun smiled so broadly he nearly tore his lip wound.

He thought privately: Bao Zhu and Yuan Xu’s characters were indeed similar, yet differed in one crucial aspect—she was strong and healthy, able to eat and sleep well, with a broad, generous heart. Whether going to miasmic Lingnan or bitter frontier Youzhou in the future, she could live healthily anywhere—no one could defeat her.

“All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows, like dew and lightning—thus should they be contemplated.” Buddhist scriptures say all worldly things are like illusory bubbles, fleeting and unworthy of attachment.

Yet that beautiful dream by the hot springs, clear dew on lotus flowers, lightning-like enlightenment dispelling all confusion… each moment left indelible pure beauty. Even if this life was brief as bubbles and shadows, it was fulfilled.

End of “Nine Aspects Contemplation” Volume

Author’s Note:

The lynx is too naive—maybe Thirteen will grow to look like Fa Hai from the “Green Snake” version? (Exposing the author’s age)

“Plucking osmanthus from the moon palace” was the inspiration source for Chanming Temple and osmanthus flowers. Originally meaning passing the imperial examinations, this volume contained much about civil service exams, but the ending wasn’t beautiful. Fortunately, the new generation’s team doesn’t participate in imperial exams—only literally plucking osmanthus to give as gifts.

Moon palace moonlight—according to mythology, osmanthus trees grow on the moon, osmanthus flowers are worn by celestial beings. Wei Da can’t wax poetic like Old Yang, but in his heart Bao Zhu embodies beautiful images like moon, moonlight, celestial flowers. Drinking the purest wine, fighting the fiercest battles, accompanying the world’s bravest girl on the final journey—isn’t this a complete bucket list?

“Nine Aspects Contemplation” concludes at nearly 100,000 characters. Readers with hoarding habits can now binge-read. Some unsolved mysteries aren’t author oversights but foreshadowing for future stories.

Next comes another month of hiatus for stockpiling drafts. The next volume will be set in Youzhou, featuring Old Seven and his brother (their relationship may not match your expectations).